


Best Summer Ever

by alightbymoonrise



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adorable Derek, Alive Laura Hale, Awesome Laura Hale, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, as always, like tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alightbymoonrise/pseuds/alightbymoonrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Scott’s jaw dropped. Ha.</p><p>“Tell me that isn’t Derek.” His best friend whispers right when Derek recognizes him and smiles a little, making his way to their table.</p><p>“Unfortunately, that certainly is.” He sighs wistfully.</p><p>----</p><p>In which Stiles meets Derek one summer. There are puppy, car crash, meet-the-bestfriend, Laura Hale and general adorableness. Not exactly in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Summer Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Someone pointed out some of my mistakes. I edited things because of it, but this story is still unbeta'd, sorry! The remaining mistakes are all mine. Feel free to give criticism!
> 
> I'm procrastinating. I know. Finals been done since April and I've written many things, but somehow this one is the first one finished. I hope you enjoy! :)

Stiles sits on the stool alone that night in the local bar—drinking a coke, see: Sheriff’s son who’s only 20—because Scott is a jerk of a best friend who is abandoning him for Deaton, Scott’s boss who’s a vet. Man, he is abandoned for frickin’ Deaton. He could accept it if the reason was Allison, okay, he could.

Not Deaton.

Who the hell would abandon their best friend for their boss?

Okay, he doesn’t pay Scott for the time spent with him, fair enough. But still.

He sighs, sipping his alcohol-less drink while leaning down on the table with a thump, not really caring about the amused stare he gets from Erica, the bartender that’s been spoiling him rotten since the day he calls her Catwoman. Whatever, he is jobless (just kicked out of his part time job, still a student and on summer break) and dateless and best-friend-less and enemy-less. God, he even misses Jackson (the enemy part, of course), anything to keep him busy, really.

He’s snapped from his trance by Erica’s voice that says, “Derek! It's been a long time! Since when are you back?”

Stiles glances towards his right and groans inwardly, because of course, of course a guy that attractive would sit beside Stiles. No wonder barely one hits on him every time he comes to a bar or a pub.

“Couple hours.” He hears the guy—Derek, his mind supplies—grunts, with a voice surprisingly softer than what he expected, but a face grumpy as hell. And wow, doesn’t this guy have a peachy personality. Because, monosyllabic, really?

“For the whole summer break?” Derek gives a nod, “Peter lets you take that much holiday? Are you sure he’s not up to something?”

“Don’t care.”

“Are you sure?” Erica repeats.

“Enjoy things while it lasts.” He sees Derek shrugs.

“With Peter, that’s… true enough. Here, the usual. On me.” Erica gives Derek a beer (Tall, Dark, Handsome, Mysterious, Older. Huh.) and winks. She doesn’t forget to give Stiles a smirk before she goes, forcing him to realize that he’s been staring the whole time.

Stiles just scowls—he rarely scowls, he’s not lying, but he’s still bitter because of Scott—and promptly ignores the perfection that sits next to him for the next fifteen minutes. He mulls it over in his head after that, contemplating the pros (having someone to talk to) and cons (being ignored, clue: _peachy_ personality). It’s another five minutes before he caves.

“I’m Stiles.” He turns to face the guy—Derek—fully, offering a hand. He makes sure he doesn’t use any suggesting tones, because yes, this guy is hot in a call-fire-department level, but 1. He knows it won’t work for this guy, 2. He’s not interested in one night stand, _if_ it even worked for the guy and 3. He doesn’t really want sex. He only wants to complain about Scott.

Derek (it’s fucking weird to call a name in your head before they introduce themselves to you) just turns his head a little, looks at him from head to toe and turns back to his drink. He sips it before he says a curt, “Derek.”, completely not assessing Stiles’ offered hand at all.

He shrugs. At least the guy talks, he’s not picky. “Can you believe that my best friend Scott ditches me for his boss tonight? He said he was gonna cheer me up since I was recently kicked out of my job. Now look at where he is. He’s the worst wingman ever, though, and it’s a bit unfair that I can’t complain because it’s not like I have any other friend who would put up with being my wingman, but still. It’s frickin’ summer break and I’m bored to death because of him. And it’s only the second day. I couldn’t imagine all the ditching he’s about to do this month. I really hate him right now.” He sighs.

Derek only hums in response. Whatever. Scott usually doesn’t even give a sign that he’s listening. He could see that Derek appreciates the thing that is Stilinski talking charm (“It isn’t a thing, Stiles. I don’t talk as much as you do. Nobody talks as much as you do.” “I don’t want your opinion, Dad.”).

They were quiet for a few moments, with Stiles not having any idea what to do next now that he said what he wanted to say and Derek sipping his beer, before he finally breaks.

“Are you from around here?”

Derek nods.

“Where do you live? I couldn’t believe I haven’t met you before. I mean, have you seen this town? Everyone knows everyone.”

“The Preserve. Moved to San Fran six years ago. I come back here for the summer.”

“The Pre—you’re a Hale?” a nod, and it’s then that the realization hit him. “Wait, wait, wait, you’re Derek Hale. The little brother who made Laura bitched about the lost mascara for a week.” He says with a hint of awe in his voice.

Derek finally looks at him and scowls, then, “You talk to Laura? She left it in my apartment, it’s not my fault I thought it was trash.”

He laughs. “I know Laura, she’s my father’s deputy.”

The surprised look on Derek’s face is so, so adorable. Not that he’d say it out loud. He still values his life. “Your father’s—Stilinski? Sheriff Stilinski?”

He nods, “The one and only.”

“Your parents named you Stiles Stilinski.” Even he could hear the judgment in Derek’s voice.

“If you thought Stiles is bad, you wouldn’t want to know the ridiculousness that is my real name. You should count yourself lucky that you’ve never seen a thing totally unpronounceable.”

Derek hums, “It couldn’t be that bad.”

He rolls his eyes, “It is. Trust me. I firmly believed that my parents want their child to have a good sense of humor. It has to start somewhere, right?”

Derek stares at him incredulously and, after a few seconds, snorts. “You think you have a good sense of humor.”

He shrugs, “I totally made you, Scowl-y Growly Totally Not Peachy McStubbly snort. I count it as a win. That’s all capitalized, by the way.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Your face is ridiculous.”

“Your mouth is ridiculous.”

“Your eyes are—wait, is that even a color? How are those things legal?”

Derek laughs, bright and clear, and Stiles is—

He is so fucked.

(Laura’s gonna mock him forever for this.)

*

His phone buzzes from beside him when he’s lying around in his bed after a bro time with Scott, telling him he gets a new message. It’s from Derek. His lips tug involuntarily while he opens it. It’s been three days and they’ve been texting back and forth since then, at first talking ninety percent about his college course in Berkeley and ten percent about nonsense, now ten percent about his college course in Berkeley and ninety percent about nonsense.

[19:55] From: Derek H  
Dinner with Laura. She’s talking about ‘strangling the baddie who’s been messing with BHPD with a metal cord and dump the body someplace unknown’ nonstop. It’s terrifying.

[19:56] To: Derek H  
I sympathize with you, man, I do. But Lydia is far worse.

[20:00] From: Derek H  
…don’t ever let me meet her.

[20:01] To: Derek H  
Careful there. Don’t jinx yourself.

[20:05] From: Derek H  
Right. Twenty bucks on you leaving me alone with her someday just for your amusement.

[20:06] To: Derek H  
Oh no, what gave it away?

[20:08] From: Derek H  
Please tell me you’re kidding.

[20:08] To: Derek H  
Hmm, tough luck, buddy.

[20:10] From: Derek H  
Have you met Laura? The devil who’s been torturing me since the day I was born? I don’t want to know what kind of Satan Lydia is.

[20:11] To: Derek H  
The kind that’s been making everyone in elementary, middle and high school her slave. I was lucky that I was off her radar until sophomore year in BHHS. I’m totally her favorite person after that, but she still makes me kiss Jackson fucking Whittemore on the lips. The Douche King I told you about. In Truth or Dare. Did I mention on the lips? P.s.: Jackson and I have been enemy since our mom’s tummy.

[20:11] From: Laura H  
GOD STILES WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BROTHER? DID YOU BREAK HIM?

[20:12] From: Laura H  
HE’S LAUGHING HIS ASS OFF READING YOUR TEXT AND IT’S SCARING THE HELL OUT OF ME.

[20:12] From: Laura H  
STILES

[20:12] From: Derek H  
Why does Laura say she’s texting you? And why does she look at me like I’m an alien?

[20:13] From: Derek H  
Stiles.

[20:13] From: Derek H  
Answer, please. She’s scaring the hell out of me.

Stiles doesn’t reply to any of those for a good five minutes. Because he’s busy. Cackling. Until he rolls out of bed and falls to the floor.

*

“I want to meet Derek.” Scott says one day out of the blue, right when he clicks send to the text he just typed for Derek about their ongoing argument since yesterday in the local ice cream stand. They’re hanging out on Scott’s living room, a controller in Scott’s hand, Mario Kart on the TV (Scott is losing the game, FYI), Scott on the left side of the sofa and himself on the right side. He chances a confused look at his best friend.

“You want to meet Derek.” he drawls the words, baffled at the statement.

“I just said that, Stiles.” Scott rolls his eyes.

“Why do you want to meet Derek?”

“Why not?”

“Scott.”

“Dude, I want to see the guy who makes you crazy over him, okay? You didn’t even get to this level of insanity over Lydia.”

He almost falls out of the couch. Scott doesn’t even flinch. Years and years of friendship could get people used to his flailing around, apparently. “Crazy over—Scott, it’s just a crush.”

Scott gives him an unimpressed look. “Right, a crush the size of United States of America.”

“God, you spend too much time with me.”

“I want to meet Derek.” Scott repeats.

“Okay, okay, just shut up.”

His best friend then gives him puppy dog eyes accompanied with a shit eating grin. The look apparently works for Scott.

*

Stiles can do this.

He’s collected and calm.

He’s the epitome of perfectly presentable.

Okay, no, why’s he even bothering to lie. He’s actually nervous as hell. Like, what if Scott doesn’t like Derek at all? What if they don’t get along? What if Scott doesn’t approve of Stiles’ taste that is Derek Hale? Oh God, oh God, oh God, what if Scott hates Derek and tells Stiles’ dad about it? Worse, what if he tells Lydia about it, just so Lydia could intimidate the shit out of Derek? It’s fucking nerve-wracking. It’s like introducing-the-boyfriend-to-the-best-friend part of the relationship. Except Derek is not his boyfriend. And he doesn’t want to introduce Derek. Scott forces him to. Right.

Also, he’s nervous as hell. Wait, didn’t he already say that in his head?

How many Adderall did he take today, again?

“Stop twitching.” Scott hisses. Scott has become meaner, lately. He should have known leaving Scott at the same college as Lydia, rooming together no less, is a very, very bad idea. The only thing he could be thankful about right now is the fact that Lydia goes on a trip to Europe for the break.

“Shut up. What if you loathe him?”

“Stiles, you don’t make any sense, especially the things you’re currently thinking in your head.” Stiles opens his mouth to ask if Scott can—“Yes, I can see all those absurd thoughts. It’s loud.” Scott rolls his eyes. Stiles absolutely does not pout at that. Nope.

Scott definitely has become meaner.

Not five minutes later, Derek and all his muscles glory comes into the diner they agreed to meet on, which Stiles forgot to mention earlier in his inner drabble (because as previously said, twice, nervous as hell). Oh, and that he and Scott came fifteen minutes early. Okay, his brain is officially damaged. He couldn’t even sort out his own thoughts. He should keep his mouth shut for the rest of the lunch (right, forgot to say that it’s lunch time, too) if he doesn’t want to blurt out anything stupid.

Has he mentioned that Derek is really, really gorgeous in a long-sleeved Henley and a pair of jeans? That guy doesn’t even dress up and manages to look like he steps out of a porn site.

Even Scott’s jaw dropped. Ha.

“Tell me that isn’t Derek.” His best friend whispers right when Derek recognizes him and smiles a little, making his way to their table.

“Unfortunately, that certainly is.” He sighs wistfully. He knows what Scott means. Looking at Derek does things to people’s self-esteem.

When Derek finally arrives at their table, he immediately takes a seat in front of Stiles and sends him another smile. “Hi.” He says.

“Hi.” Stiles breathes, heart hammering in his chest.

“Hey. I’m Scott.” Scott interrupts whatever it is going on. He swears he’s not the only one startles at the voice, though Derek does it more subtly than him, who full on jumps, almost out of his seat.

And then, and then Derek’s face changes, like, one hundred and eighty degrees level of change. His facial expression turns into the scowl Stiles was seeing the first time they met. His eyebrows look pinched together, as if he’s only figuring out that Scott is also there. A few seconds pass before Derek nods, offers Scott a hand (offering! He didn’t even bat an eye at Stiles’ offered hand two weeks ago when Stiles introduced himself) and says, “Derek.”, gruffly.

After the initial awkwardness, Scott and Derek get along pretty well, all things considered. They talk about animals, mostly. Stiles would be content to sit down and listen, except that is so not him, so he joins with weird facts about the current animal Scott and Derek are talking about.

(“Do you know that snail can grow back an eye if it loses one?”

“Stiles.”, Scott says.

“I’ve tried, they can.”)

(“Be grateful that you’re not a flamingo, man, you should do a handstand when you eat, otherwise. Do you know that they only eat when their head is upside down?”

“Oh my God.”)

(“Hey, you’d totally make some girl pregnant if you’re a koala. The males have two penises.”

“Stiles.” Scott tries again. Derek just looks at him with Amused Eyebrows #2. It’s the kind where he wants to smile and desperately tries not to.

“And the females have two vaginas. I checked.”

“Stiles, stop talking about disturbing things.”)

When Derek excuses himself to go to the toilet, Scott is in Stiles’ face as soon as Derek is out of earshot, whispering, “Dude, does he always look that constipated?”

“He’s like that when I first met him, smiles more since then, though. I don’t know what change today.”

“Huh.”

*

Scott is trailing him home after the meeting with Derek, following him to his room and flopping down on his bed while he strips out of his clothes—in front of Scott, yes—to change into a sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“You know,” Scott starts, “He’s as bad as you are.”

“What do you mean?” he says as he sits on the desk chair, opening his laptop.

“Stiles, have you become dumber than me or are you doing this on purpose?”

He glares at Scott, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.”

Scott lets out a long-suffering sigh, “He’s as bad about you as you are about him! Stiles, he totally only smiles when you’re there! He talked to me with that constipated default expression, and became all soft around the edges when he turned his head to you. Are you becoming blind as well?”

He frowns, “I’m not blind.”

“God, so not the point.” Scott rolls his eyes.

“Right. And no, he’s not.”

“He is, buddy, he is.”

“He’s definitely not.”

Scott looks at the ceiling, groaning. “I don’t know what great sin I created upon myself in my previous life to deserve you.”

“You’re the one who left me for Deaton!”

“Stiles, we’re over that, already!”

“Whatever.”

“He is.” Scott says again after a beat.

“He is not.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Ugh.”

*

Stiles is… Stiles wants to die, okay?

It’s not fair. It isn’t fair at all.

Who the hell thinks it’s a good idea to put Derek and a puppy in the same room?

Not Stiles, certainly. Nope. No.

Seriously, though, Stiles only wants a nice lunch with his best friend who works as an assistant vet for the summer. And instead of texting said best friend where to meet, come to said best friend’s workplace to save all the hassle. He figures they could go together from there and he could drop Scott off after they’re done. He’s a good friend like that.

But. What are Derek _and_ a puppy doing there on the waiting room? Why is the puppy cradled happily on Derek’s chest like that? It’s destructive scenery, that’s what it is. He swears he could almost hear himself whimper. He hasn’t even fully come inside the office yet. Ugh. What did he do to deserve this kind of heart attack?

He’s torn between wanting to flee because of obvious reason—clue: fragile heart that could transform to a melting goo—and stay to look at Derek and puppy all day, or all year, whatever. But then Derek beats him to it. He’s turning to Stiles, smiling that small, disarming smile, before Stiles could decide what choice would be best for his dignity.

He fucking hates that smile. (No he doesn’t)

It makes him want to do anything Derek wants him to do.

“Stiles.” Derek calls.

“Uh… hi.” He says dumbly. “That yours?”

As if on cue, the puppy nuzzles Derek’s neck, making Derek looks at it with fond and loving eyes.  That fucking puppy really knows ways to kill Stiles with cuteness.

“Laura’s. His name is Finn.”

“Hi there, Finn.” He says, walking closer to Derek and crouching down so he’s to Derek’s eye level. He tries to pry the puppy out of Derek’s arm and into his, looking into those beautiful, beautiful eyes for permission.

“Careful. Don’t let the adorableness fool you. He likes to bite strangers.” Derek says while handing Finn to him. Contrary to Derek’s words, the dog just snuggles closer to Stiles chest. He couldn’t help but being smug. He’s about to rub it in Derek’s face when he glances at the older guy and sees the look Derek’s sporting.

It’s fond, full of affection, the softest of all soft looks. And all for him.

Okay, the thing is, he’s starting to notice all Derek’s gesture towards him since Scott confronts him about it. How Derek talks to him, laugh around him, the lingering touches, the longing stares, the small, private smile that makes him breathless. It’s all there, always been there all along. He’s just too focused on his own feelings to notice.

And when he does notice, it’s like all birthdays and Christmases come at once.

He just doesn’t want to give Scott the satisfaction by admitting it.

He and Derek just look at each other for a few moments after that. A few, he’s-sure-he’s-not-imagining-it intimate moments, before Scott’s head pops out of the examination room, shouting Laura’s name. Whatever magic is there disappears into thin airs as Derek stands up with reaching hands. Finn obediently jumps out of his arms and into Derek’s.

Scott notices him, then, and says, “Oh, hey. Wait for me? This little guy is the last one before lunch break.”

He nods minutely, staring at Derek’s retreating back. He feels like caught up in the act when Derek turns to him with a smile. “See you later, Stiles.”

 “Yeah.” He smiles back (who in their right mind wouldn’t?). “See you later.”

*

Actually, Stiles has a lot of things in his mind.

Summer break almost ends. Just three days to go before he has to go back to the flat he’s renting near Berkeley, honestly, but he isn’t ready to leave. Two years ago he would be excited (and a bit sad, because looking at his dad becoming smaller by the second in the rearview mirror would never be easy) because damn, he loves what he’s doing, what he’s learning.

But he isn’t ready. Not while he’s not a hundred percent sure where he’s standing with Derek right now.

Metaphorically, of course.

Thus, a lot of things in his mind. Particularly Derek-related things.

He feels like a main character in a romcom (finally he’s the Batman and Scott’s the sidekick Robin), lying on his bed in the dark, twirling his phone with one hand while the other bent behind his head, thinking about what his finally-there love story is gonna be like. If he doesn’t feel so anxious he’d have the mind to throw up because that is his life now, copying a scene right out of a romance movie.

Does he have to make the first move? Does Derek even want to get serious with him? The smiles, the significant looks, the touches, they could be anything, could they not? What if Derek doesn’t make a move because he doesn’t want anything to happen? But God, that smile. That specifically little, adorable smile, with the crinkle on the corner of his ocean eyes, completed with cute bunny teeth and red ears.

Stiles is so, so screwed.

He doesn’t even think the muscle is important, anymore.

Well, okay, they’re important. But not the point. The point is he’s fairly certain he will still love Derek even though Derek becomes as fat as a cow or somethi—oh God.

Oh _God._

He loves Derek.

He’s in _love_ with Derek.

He’s freaking out. He’s—

[23:22] To: Laura H  
Laura

[23:22] To: Laura H  
I’m Freaking Out with capitals.

[23:23] To: Laura H  
Laura

[23:24] From: Laura H  
Shut up. Not all of us are nocturnal. This better be important.

[23:25] To: Laura H  
I think I’m in love with your brother

[23:25] From: Laura H  
…that’s news to you? I woke up in the middle of the night for this?

[23:25] From: Laura H  
Whatever. Thank goodness, finally. Now you could run off to the sunset or something.

[23:26] To: Laura H  
Laura I’m serious! What should I do?!

[23:27] From: Laura H  
Are you kidding me? You should keep that a secret till the day you die. Grow old alone. I don’t care.

[23:27] To: Laura H  
Laura

[23:28] From: Laura H  
For the love of God, just fucking tell him! Preferably before you go back to college, so the two of you can do loud and obnoxious sex as soon as you get back to your apartment in Berkeley because you wouldn’t be able to do that in your dad’s house and he’s only an hour or so drive away. Obviously.

[23:29] From: Laura H  
Now don’t disturb my sleep anymore. You’re lucky you’re my favorite person. I’d have slaughtered you otherwise.

Stiles flails with his hands because what the hell?! He deflates, drops everything—phone and limbs—on the bed before sighing. Laura did have a point. He should just tell Derek. The worst that could happen is Derek rejecting him, right? He could always move on (or not, he’s not sure anymore).

He sleeps with that in mind.

*

Because he’s Stiles, the worst that could happen is _not_ Derek rejecting him. Because what’s worse than Derek rejecting him? Involved in a car crash right where he’s on the way to the promised place to meet Derek, right when he’s about to tell Derek how he feels, that’s what. His life. If he’s not so busy trying to stay awake, he’d mope in the nearest corner he could find.

It’s a good thing the truck’s driver hit his jeep—God, his baby is totaled—on the passenger seat side. Okay, wait, the sentence above is definitely called being optimistic. He doesn’t even know when he’s changed to being an optimist. That job is Scott’s part in their friendship.

Stiles is barely conscious by the time the medical team has arrived, and he’s certainly losing all consciousness by the time the ambulance is rushing him to the hospital. The last thing he thinks about before his world goes dark is Derek’s worried expression when the guy realizes Stiles is not coming.

*

The sound of the door closing is what wakes Stiles up.

A beeping sound, a bed that’s totally not his, the uncomfortable pillow, the feeling of being connected to an IV and the smell of medicines are things that tell him he’s in a hospital. Why was Stiles in a hospital, again?

He groans when he tries to open his eyes as the lights hitting them immediately making his head pound with ache. There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder and a straw against his mouth. He opens it, giving access to whatever liquid—Gatorade, apparently—is shoving down its way to his throat.

“You okay, son?” a voice, his dad voice, is asking from his beside. Right, he’s been in an accident. God, his head and chest hurt.

“Aside from feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck, yes, I’m peachy.”

“Oh, the sarcasm. You’re just alright. I’m not too worried now.” His dad says. When he unfolds his eyes open, he sees his father smiling down at him, forehead crinkle in that concerned way. He reaches a hand between his dad’s eyebrows, smoothing out the line just like he’d do as a child when he had been on a worrying adventure with Scott.

“That’s a blatant lie.” He smiles back. “How long have I been out?” He asks as he drops his hand down.

“Eight hours. Two where Lydia refused to end the Skype call, finally agreed to do it, only to call again an hour later for another two hours, six in which Scott refused to bug from that spot,” his dad points the chair at the corner of the room, “and the total eight of my deputy and her brother being in and out of this room.”

His eyes widen.

His dad gives him a significant look that says ‘yep’, and continues, “They were being ushered out by the nurse half an hour ago because visiting hours were over, but said brother, particularly, didn’t want to get out of the waiting room. It was a miracle Laura managed to haul his ass to get something to eat, if only for fifteen minutes.”

He hums, refusing to meet his dad’s inquiring eyes.

“Now, son, do you have something you want to tell me?”

“…not really?” at his dad’s withering look he quickly adds, “Okay, okay! Yes! I actually wanted to tell you but I don’t know where to start and it’s not like there’s anything going on, because I’d have been telling you otherwise, but you know, there’s just so much on my mind including how should I te—“

“Stiles.”

He shuts his mouth closed with a clack, opens them again to say, “I think I like—“, a look from his dad, “ugh, I hate you. Yes, I’m a hundred percent positive I love him, but nothing’s happening, okay?”

“But you want something to happen.”

“Who doesn’t.” he mumbles, loud enough for his father to hear and snort in response.

“I wouldn’t be worried if I were you.” His dad replies. He gapes at that, wants to flail but fails (ha. It rhymes). His dad just looks at him fondly and says, “Go rest, Stiles.” As if on cue, his mind becomes heavier and before he knew it, his world goes dark for the second time that day.

*

When he wakes up again, his head feels like it’s been hit by tons of bricks. He groans and suddenly, there are hands on his forehead and arm.

“Stiles, you awake?”

Derek, his mind supplies. It’s Derek.

He squints, still got that constant ache on his skull, and says, “Not to sound rude, but last time I checked, my dad said visiting hours are over. What time is it?”

“It’s nine. Last time I checked your dad said and I quote, that’s what we have Melissa here for, end quote. Apparently, she’s willing to abuse her job to get me in because your dad is working night shift.”

He squeaks (if anyone asks, he’d say it sounds manly) at that, “My _dad_ let you in? Really?”

Derek hums, swiping strands of hair on his head. He turns so serious suddenly that Stiles is caught off guard. “Don’t do that again, Stiles, I thought I was going to have a heart attack when Laura called and said you were in a car crash. You’ve got me really worried.”

“If I’d known worrying makes you chatty, I’d have tried that trick a long time ago.”

“Stiles.” Derek says, exasperated but fond, and he can’t help but preen, because the worry lines on Derek’s forehead cease a little. He’s got those crinkles on the corner of his eyes, a sign Derek’s amused but not quite smiling yet, and his expression is so adorable that Stiles’ brain is short-circuited for a minute before it sends his mouth signals that shouts, DON’T, NO, NO, N—

“I love you.” He blurts. And he knows he pales because he doesn’t plan to say that, but he’s not taking it back either. It’s true. He means it with all his heart. But then Derek’s initial shock turns to a bright, bright, bright smile, like actually brighter than the sun kind of bright, and Stiles could finally release the breath he’s not aware holding.

And wow, since when was Derek’s face this close? Damn, now that he finally thinks Derek’s eyes couldn’t be more beautiful, they just set themselves on his brown ones and he’s sure he wouldn’t find the word to describe how fascinating they are.

When their lips finally met, it’s gentle like how he expected it would be and so, so much more.

The kiss is over almost before he could process it, leaving him craving for another. But when Derek whispers, “I love you.”, against his lips, all thoughts are leaving him, replaced with these tingling and warm feelings all over his body. Derek leans back, the hand that was before gripping his arm slips into his palm and intertwining their fingers together.

Stiles is connected to a beeping machine, arteries to an IV, lying on a hospital bed, using an uncomfortable pillow, just recently hit by a truck, but screw them. Screw them all.

It’s the best day ever.

Actually, screw it, too.

It’s the best summer ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for any kudos and comment! Also, hit me on [tumblr](http://www.theninth29.tumblr.com/)! I recently made it according to my ao3 account. Accepting prompts ;)


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